


YEARN

by SuchAFangirl



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchAFangirl/pseuds/SuchAFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a turning point in Justin's life, his first solo show in New York, and Brian is getting a private preview</p>
            </blockquote>





	YEARN

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006 for the Livejournal Dare Challenge

Justin had stepped off the plane from Pittsburgh and hit the New York pavement running. Two years on, almost to the day, he realized he’d never stopped.

 

He had settled in his new home quickly, finding an easy comfort with his new roommate; each glad for the company that fought off the big city loneliness. Finding work had been simple too. Deb gave glowing references, and he received a few job offers in the first week. After weighing his options, Justin decided to take one in a restaurant on Broadway; three nights a week and the Sunday brunch shift. He loved the lively chatter of the theater crowds, and it was great not to have to field the constant barrage of pick-up lines like he had done at the Liberty Diner.

 

Good fortune continued to fall his way when Justin enquired about art classes at the local community center. His interest in classes was a farce, just a means of gaining studio access. The Program Coordinator at the center had him pegged within five minutes. After chatting for almost two hours, Justin left with his own class of variably talented kids to teach and a key to the studio. He had a place to paint, a little extra cash in his pocket, and he was spared the annoyance of attending intermediate level Oil on Canvas classes.

 

It was the perfect arrangement. Fortuitous, as it would turn out.

 

Justin found all the encouragement and connections he needed at the community center. It was there that he heard about the Smack Mellon Artist Studio Program. Twelve months rent-free studio space, access to state-of-the-art computer equipment, and a $5,000 fellowship; Justin knew the opportunity could be his big break. Work commitments, teaching and the preparation of his Smack Mellon application eroded the weeks away. Justin immersed himself in his art, barely coming up for breath.

 

It was Christmas before Justin saw Pittsburgh again, but he didn’t count his time in New York in weeks, or months. Brian’s visits were the calendar he lived by. Each visit was perfectly timed, never giving the memory of the last visit an opportunity to fragment.

 

The first anniversary of Justin’s arrival in New York coincided with the beginning of his artistic residency at Smack Mellon. It was helpful that the same cunt of an art critic who’d “discovered” him in Pittsburgh happened to be on the selection committee. Justin preferred to think that his work alone won him a position in the 2006-2007 program, but he mentally noted that at least some of the credit was probably due to his perfect, firm ass.

 

Now his year in the Artist Studio Program was complete. The studio lay vacant, waiting to be occupied by the next aspiring artist. The canvases that had once crowded his studio now graced the walls of Smack Mellon’s exhibition gallery. Justin’s first solo show, YEARN, was about to be revealed to the world.

 

The kind of exposure he’d had in the previous year was far greater than Justin could ever have hoped for. His name was heard in excited whispers across the New York art scene. Most of the paintings in the collection had been pre-sold, many to corporate collections but some to a few notable, private collectors. Justin knew YEARN would be the defining point of his career.

 

Every canvas had been a labor of love, revealing memories of people, places and moments that he held dear. His life was on show for all to see, for those who chose not only to look but also to listen to his paintings. Each one told a story and was a window into the young artist's heart. A distant smile showed on Justin’s face as he reflected on one of his favorite pieces. He wondered where the next chapter of this story would take him.

 

**_Serenity In Chaos_ **

_by Justin Taylor - 2006_

_Mixed Media_

 

A band of calm, peaceful white lies in juxtaposition across a vivid display of dancing colors. Justin found the inspiration for this painting in the most serendipitous way. It was a beautiful moment … a moment of inner calm.

 

It felt so good to be home. To be together again. A Family.

 

Justin had been away for close to eight months - eight busy, hectic months. But despite cramming work, classes, and painting into days that always seemed too short, those months seemed achingly empty. Reunited with his loved ones at the home Brian had bought for him, he knew why. He felt alive, really alive, for the first time in months.

 

He had been looking forward to Christmas for so long. It hadn’t been like that since he was a boy. All the excitement and anticipation built up inside him as it drew closer, day by day by day. Justin had never been disappointed as a kid; “Santa” always knew exactly what to bring, and his pockets were certainly deep. One could say he was spoiled as a child, but not as spoiled as he felt then, Christmas 2005.

 

For someone who’d never been one for Christmas, Brian had sure laid it on thick. A tree stood by the corner window, not unlike the trees they had in Bloomingdale’s. It almost touched the ceiling, and was tastefully decorated in minimalist style, with harmonious silver and blue hues. “Brian, it’s absolutely beautiful,” Justin sighed softly.

 

Of course Brian didn't admit liability. “It is rather fabulous.” He was clearly trying to suppress the grin that would give him away. “It’s amazing what Em can accomplish with an open check.” But Emmett would have used green and red, or something outrageous like purple and orange. Brian wasn’t fooling anyone. Justin’s reply was a soft thankful kiss. The sentiment wasn't lost on him; he knew Brian had been looking forward to Christmas as much as he had. Brian would never say it, but as always, his actions spoke volumes and words were unnecessary.

 

Basking in the happy glow of a little too much wine and way too much food, Justin leaned gently against Brian and surveyed the room. Small intimate groups had formed, friends and family reaffirming the bonds that time and geography had failed to weaken.

 

Debbie busily cleared away the remnants of Christmas dinner, like she was bussing tables at the diner. Emmett gave her a hand, jabbering away all the while, getting every detail of how to make her fabulous cranberry sauce. Mel and Ted were deep in conversation, catching up on the past eight months. Michael, Ben and Hunter acquainted J.R. with her new toys, vying with each other for her smiles and giggles. In the hall, Jennifer and Carl made a noisy effort to clear away the mountains of discarded boxes and wrapping paper, most of which had come from gifts bestowed upon the children by overzealous parents and grandparents.

 

Lindsay joined Brian on the sofa, quietly talking with him as he absentmindedly caressed Justin’s thigh. Gus’s attempts to wedge himself between his parents interrupted their discussion. He held his new storybook open in his lap and begged Daddy to read him the part about Toad and his car. Justin had to smile. The Wind in the Willows had been one of his favorites as a boy. He had looked after that book, treasured it. It meant so much to pass it on. In many ways (at least the ones that counted), Gus was a son to him.

 

Justin thought about how much he had missed everyone and how much they had all changed, particularly Gus. Yet he was astonished at how some things - the love, the friendships and the laughter - resisted change.

 

In that moment, amongst all the clatter, chatter and chaos, Justin found peace. Happiness. Serenity. It was all there. With his family. In his home.

 

*******

 

When Justin arrived back in New York after Christmas break, an acceptance letter from Smack Mellon was waiting. Visions of paintings yet to be were swimming in his head, complete in every detail. All that remained was to put brush to canvas.

 

The first day in his own studio, an unstoppable avalanche of ideas and energy poured out of him. Never before had Justin felt so high. Creativity surged through him, and the effect was intoxicating. He felt happy, deliriously so. Hopeful, and empowered. Serenity in Chaos was near completion by day's end.

 

Each day he returned with the same vigorous passion. Painting was truly effortless. The brush in his hand became part of him, spilling his loves, dreams and desires onto the canvas. It came from a place deep within, flowing from the innermost sanctuaries of the heart. The same place where Brian, family and home resided.

 

As time wore on the stupidity of his mistake became blatant. He’d come all the way to New York to work in a studio over 300 miles from the source of his inspiration.

Hopefully, that was all about to change.

 

YEARN. He had known the definition of the word as an angst-riddled teenager, but only now, as a man in this city of faceless crowds, did he really understand its meaning. His collection had named itself. Now he waited to share his achievement with the one person whose opinion really mattered. Sure, Brian had seen most of the paintings, but tonight he would see them as they should be seen, the collection in its entirety.

 

Outside on the street, Brian stepped out of a taxi and into the cool night air. Justin crossed the expansive gallery to greet him. Their eyes met through layers of thick glass and greetings were exchanged before the gallery doors even opened. The joy was obvious in their radiant smiles.

 

Justin held the door open as Brian slipped through it, barely crossing the threshold before covering Justin’s mouth with his own. Both relished the moment their lips and searching tongues reunited. Justin pulled away from the kiss first, beaming widely. “Come inside”, he said with a nervous energy that was apparent from the bounce that accompanied each syllable. “I can’t wait for you to see it.” And then harnessing his eagerness he looked back into Brian’s eyes, smiled and said softly, “It’s so good to see you again.”

 

Brian couldn't help but laugh and pulled him in for a quick, playful kiss. “And when you’ve given me the tour, we can have our own private celebration, Sunshine.” His hand held aloft a bottle of Dom Perignon. “Twenty four years in the making. A fitting vintage for this auspicious occasion.”

 

“On that note Mr. Kinney, let me introduce YEARN, a collection of works by New York’s most talented, and need I say incredibly hot, artist.” He grinned, his eyes adding extra innuendo to the last few words.

 

“Do you actually want me to see this tonight? Or should I just fuck you against the wall now?” Brian’s voice was teasing and playful. The grin he displayed while gently biting his bottom lip let Justin know that there were other important agendas to be dealt with that night.

 

“All in good time.” He took Brian’s hand, flashing him a dazzling smile. “This way.”

 

They stopped in front of the first canvas. Brian looked up at the massive piece and a short burst of laughter tumbled out before he had time to think about stopping it. “Christ! It’s fucking Emmett!” Justin loved the immediate and honest reaction, and his own face cracked into a wide smile. Yes, it was Emmett. Shades of pink, orange, tangerine, and melon meshed over the canvas in large mosaic patches. He’d called it Flame - a tribute to the wonderful kaleidoscope of color that was Emmett.

 

Canvas after canvas, memory after memory. Ritual - Lindsay and Melanie’s wedding. Ecstasy - Saturday nights at Babylon. Birth - Brian with Gus on that very first night. There were 20 in all, cherished people and memories all archived on canvas. Although the abstract techniques applied to each painting made them unrecognizable to the unknowing eye, Brian saw each one for what it was. He looked with eyes that had been opened by the intimacy of knowing the artist’s heart.

 

They walked the gallery floor together, examining the paintings mostly in quiet, comfortable silence. When they stood before a huge canvas of blue, they exchanged knowing glances. Brian grinned, raising one eyebrow. Justin’s face took on a distinctive pink flush.

 

**_Lust_ **

_by Justin Taylor – 2006_

_Mixed Media_

 

Dark deep blues cross the canvas in sensual sweeps, a sea of entangled forms caressed by a translucent blue haze. This canvas screams SEX, and yet the reason why remains intangible. It is so subtle. Only two people know its secret.

 

Justin had worked on “the backroom canvas” for almost a week. When it was finished, he had sat in his studio examining it for almost four hours, frustrated by what it seemed to lack and his inability to work out exactly what that was. He had been so deep in thought, brooding, that he failed to notice Brian enter the studio until Brian’s arms wrapped firmly around him. One hand worked its way inside his paint stressed t-shirt, the other traced the outline of his cock through his jeans.

 

Justin was already hard. In truth he had been for most of the previous week while working on the painting, trying to capture the raw lust of the backroom with each brushstroke. Those urges had been pushed to the realms of his subconscious, but in Brian’s presence they came screaming lucidly to the forefront of his mind. He turned around and was consumed in a kiss that made Brian fully aware of Justin’s heightened state of need.

 

Brian’s hands expertly peeled off Justin’s t-shirt as they explored his body, rediscovering the smoothness of his skin beneath his fingers. He had been craving the sensation for five long weeks. Justin’s own reactions were less elegant, his hands feverishly unbuttoning Brian’s business shirt, lucky not to rip the buttons from the very fabric they were fastening.

 

Justin’s jeans were pushed hurriedly to his ankles, Brian’s own pants lowered just enough to allow his cock freedom. It ached for Justin’s beautiful, sweet ass. Brian reached into his pocket for the essentials; it was time to release the tension. As Justin rolled the condom onto Brian, Brian's lube-drenched fingers caressed Justin’s hole, finding their way inside and melting any fragment of resolve Justin had left. “Fuck me, Brian. Fuck me now … Please …” He hated that he was reduced to begging in less than five minutes. Brian loved it when Justin begged.

 

Justin’s eyes closed as strong certain hands bent his body over the worktable. Warm wet lips traced a path down Justin’s spine, then all comprehension left when Brian finally buried his cock deep within him. Justin’s face pressed hard onto the table surface, his hands searching for a slither of reality to cling to. Brian’s hands met Justin's, their fingers interlaced, dancing a caressing tango timed perfectly with each controlled thrust.

 

For Justin, release came all too quickly, spilling pools of come beneath him. His milky white skin slid in the deliciously sticky mess, the vigor of Brian’s thrusts increasing as he too lost control. Soon Brian was reaching downward, pulling Justin’s hips closer to him, the sudden new-found depth inducing his euphoric climax.

 

Justin peeled himself from the table, leaning his weight into Brian, and turned to kiss lips reddened by the rouge of orgasm. Still regaining composure, and weakened by the intensity of their orgasm, they stumbled. The bonds of their own clothes caught them, sending them falling backwards into an easel, its payload landing beneath them as they crumpled to the floor. They lay there, bodies entangled, too sated to move.

 

It was several minutes before they removed themselves from the wreckage they had created. Then the clean up began. Brian righted the easel and lifted the fallen painting back on to it. Justin surveyed the damage. The canvas was intact, but their bodies had smeared the paint in parts. A palm-sized smudge was discernible in the top corner and Justin’s ass had flattened the texture of the brushwork across the lower portion of the canvas.

 

It was perfect.

 

********

 

The last two canvases of the collection were completely new to Brian’s eyes. Both had been painted in the time since he last visited. Ever Closer was the first painting conceived in Justin’s mind, yet it had been the most difficult to bring to life. He had postponed its commencement until there were no other memories to paint. When he finally started, the ache of desperate longing had been every bit as torturous as it was that fateful night. The night he left Pittsburgh, the loft, and Brian. He had spilled tears over the canvas day after day, but its completion was therapeutic. Defining. When he added the final brush stroke, Justin realized that one more painting was needed to complete his collection.

 

**_Ever Closer_ **

_by Justin Taylor - 2007_

_Oil on Canvas_

 

Different from others, this painting is far less abstract. The male form is easily discernable, lying across ripples of bluish-gray. Graceful and beautiful, it is bathed in a golden glow.

They had never been able to get enough of each other. Their hands absentmindedly sought out the other, reaching for the touch of warm skin or soft silky hair. There was always the need for physical contact. But that last night had been so different; their need for each other was insatiable - impossibly so.

 

A desperate, passionate kiss had taken hold of them both, removing all thought and allowing the instinct of their bodies to take over. That was how it had always been between them. Instinctive. Clothes found their own way to the floor, littering it with puddles of fabric. Then finally they were together, with nothing between them but a thin film of sweat and the thinnest layer of latex.

 

Justin’s legs embraced Brian, bringing him closer … closer … though never close enough. With each thrust, Justin felt his composure slip further away … yet he wanted to be so clear of mind, to hang on to every detail of this, their goodbye. Closer … deeper … his craving for Brian infinite.

 

Coherency faded until Justin finally gave in. Gave in to the passion … gave in to the moment. He looked up and met Brian’s eyes, then lost himself in the ecstasy that gripped his body, the agony that gripped his heart.

 

Justin’s deep blue eyes pleaded with Brian, who was already overwhelmed by desperation. Desperate to find that place … deeper … deeper. Fuck! Why couldn’t he find it? There no way to get … close enough. Just when Brian's destination seemed within reach, his hips met the firm flesh of Justin’s ass and he could go no further. He wanted to keep going, to push himself right through, as if it were possible to bring their bodies together as one.

 

Closer. It was all either of them wanted … needed. Their movements became more desperate, almost frantic.

 

Their bodies curved toward one another, searching lips met, both needing to feel their tongues entwine, to breathe in the same sweet breath. At that moment it was all they existed for.

In each thrust they lost themselves and found each other, eyes locked, hands meshed. Through their intense gaze they spoke of the infinite desire they were immersed in, so deep it was almost drowning them. And eventually it did, as the freedom of orgasm washed over them.

 

Finally. Together as one.

 

Their goodbye was a wordless kiss. Soft. Tender.

 

As Justin dressed he surveyed the physical perfection that was Brian. He mapped it in his mind, each shadow and highlight that played across Brian’s damp golden skin. Already, the artist knew that this vision was destined for canvas.

 

He gathered his things and walked towards the loft door. As Justin turned to close it, a sense of déjà vu caused him to pause and reflect. His life began when he had closed that very door five years earlier… from the other side.

 

Brian was awake, but motionless. It took everything he had just to keep breathing. He lay there, in the heat that radiated from where Justin had been. Feeling the warmth, he could pretend that his love … his life … had not just walked out through the heavy steel door.

 

**_Dare?_ **

_by Justin Taylor - 2007_

_Oil on Canvas_

 

Whispers of the stories told on the other canvases can be seen in this piece. Color fills the left of the canvas, stopping suddenly only one-third in, where it meets a jagged line of black. If one turned their head to the side, it would remind them of the Manhattan skyline. Running vertically down the canvas, it is less assuming. It is a wall, holding back a vast reservoir of color that threatens to overflow and inundate the canvas. At the bottom of the canvas is DARE?. The lettering immediately catches the eye, yet still leaves the right side of the canvas feeling bare. Empty. As if it is waiting for something. This work seems somehow unfinished.

 

Justin could barely breathe as they looked upon the final painting. This one was different from the rest, not only because of its style, but because it could not be read by knowing the artist's past. It was about who Justin had become and what he wanted for the future. This painting was his opus, Brian’s opinion of it crucial. Justin hoped those hazel eyes would see what he wanted them to see and understand all that needed to be understood. He needed to come home.

 

Justin knew the time was right, but convincing Brian would be impossible if he was restricted to words. Brian Kinney was a master of language of the highest order. For every line, Brian would have a brilliant counter. Too many times Justin had tried to use words, only to have them work against him. This time he chose the language he knew best. Colors and textures. The language of the artist. These paintings were his conversation.

 

Brian descended deep into his own thoughts, his lip pulled in slightly, held gently between his teeth. The mechanics of his mind were almost audible as he drew his hand to his chin.

 

The silence and the wait were quietly killing Justin. His ability to read Brian had evaporated in his fear of the answer he couldn't bear to hear. Justin reached out to slip an arm around Brian’s waist, needing to bridge the gap between their minds with physical connection. Brian lifted his own arm and rested it comfortably on his lover's shoulder, turning their bodies towards each other slightly. Blue eyes looked up at him, searching, trying to gauge his reaction.

 

Dare? The critics would ponder its meaning, admirers would read into it messages of their own making. In truth, it was a question - a question from the artist to the man he loved. He hoped the message was clear. Dare? … Dare to do it all again?

 

Brian’s eyes shone, flecks of lustrous gold in deep pools of green. They held Justin captive, their gaze speaking the truth he had been longing to hear. Like a wave of sunshine, a smile broke out across the young man's face. It wasn't about the painting, his show or his success; it was that Brian understood. The warmth of the smile washed over them both, Justin so overwhelmed that he barely heard the words Brian whispered as he leaned in and drew them together in a long, gentle, lingering kiss.

 

“In a heartbeat, Justin. In a heartbeat.”

 

 


End file.
